


Sick Day

by LittlestMedic



Category: Havenfall is for Lovers (Visual Novel), Lovestruck - Fandom
Genre: Diego is your sugar vampire and he loves you., F/M, Import from Tumblr, prompt request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 11:06:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14975858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlestMedic/pseuds/LittlestMedic
Summary: From a prompt received on tumblr; "Can you write a fanficfion of Diego from Havenfall is for Lovers taking care of a sick MC?"





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt courtesy of @seducemeotome-trash on tumblr.

Diego ran a hand through his dishevelled black hair and sighed heavily. He didn’t sigh because he was _frustrated_ , more that he was worried. It was just a nasty flu, certainly something that [MC] could recover from, but as her boyfriend (sugar vampire, he remembered with a bemused smile), he was certainly allowed to be worried about her, and as a doctor, certainly something he would take care of her for.

Not to say that he wouldn’t care for her if he _wasn’t_ a doctor. It was just as boyfriend **and** doctor, there was absolutely no way she would receive less than top-notch care.

“Seriously, I’m fine, Diego. Go see your patients. You have a job _other_ than looking after me.”

Diego clicked his tongue chidingly. True, he did, but he wasn’t in love with his other patients, and he hadn’t gone through all that he had with her with them.  
“Yes, but that job is less important to me right now. Now let me check your temperature.”

He retrieved the digital ear thermometer from his medical bag, turning it on and gently turning her head away from him so he could access her right ear, resisting the urge to steal a kiss as he did so. It wasn’t that he would catch anything—if vampires could have fallen to flu, they probably would have by now—but more that if he did, he wouldn’t get anything done for at least the next fifteen minutes.

“I kind of expected you to bust out one of those old glass ones, with the mercury and shit.” There was a smile in her voice, one that was infectious to the point of lifting the frown of concentration on Diego’s face. “Not fond of that traditional stuff, Dr Escalona?”

He took her temperature, shaking his head as he replied.  
“Technology has saved me a lot of trouble,” he began, taking the thermometer back and examining the small screen for the reading, “Not least the fact that its no longer imperative I take _rectal_ readings.”

Silence—he glanced at her expression, and saw her staring at him, hand covering her mouth as she tried not to snicker. He raised an eyebrow, looking back at the display screen.  
“100.5” He met her intrigued look. “Quite high.”

“Would have thought you’d use metric. Y’know, Spanish and all that.”

“38.1 Celsius, if you want to know. Around that, anyway.” He put away the thermometer. “But Celcius wasn’t introduced into wider use in medical thermometers until the 19th century. I remember how many people objected to it.”  
Diego turned back to [MC], stroking her head affectionately.  
“And besides. I’ve been here since before America was even a country. Is it really so surprising?”

She shrugged.  
“Guess not. You’d think sooner or later I’d stop being surprised by you.”

Diego smiled, leaning down to peck her quickly on the forehead.  
“I don’t think I’ll ever stop being surprised by _you_ , my love.” He straightened (although it was definitely a struggle to pull himself away…), heart warmed by the smile on her face, although still a little concerned by the fatigue he could see there. “Get some rest. I’m going to get you something to eat.”

Her diet was atrocious—the smallest benefit of her being bedbound was he could sneak some vegetables into some sort of soup, which he reasoned would both be fortifying and easy to make.  
It was just vegetables and water, after all, wasn’t it? The chefs all made it look that easy…

He left her in their bed, curled up in the covers with strict instructions to sleep, if she could, mentally planning what he would make. He’d been watching cookery programs, largely so he could cook for her and make sure it was both delicious and healthier than whatever junk food she would have had otherwise. Of course, the fact that he largely held the belief that cooking for your loved one was near enough _compulsory_ when the loved one was ill (and advised when not) was also a contributory factor.

Diego made his way to the kitchen, bold in the face of a daunting task. He’d been watching a lot of that _angry_ British chef whose name escaped him… The one who swore more than JD after a night of drinking, which in itself was a feat on its own. Tapping his way through Google, he found the perfect recipe from the chef.  
 _Smoky bacon, potato and sweetcorn soup,_ Diego read, _also featuring leek and onion_. Well, that was more than perfect. **Four** different kinds of vegetable! Plus, bacon—what could go wrong?

He scrambled around the kitchen for half an hour, tracking down each of the ingredients. Truthfully, he’d let [MC] put the groceries away when she shopped, and it was a wonder that they had all of the things he required, although most of that was down to luck and the fact he’d started encouraging her to buy more fruits and vegetables on her grocery shop.

Diego followed the recipe carefully, having diced and chopped his way through preparation with intense focus. Just because he wasn’t _great_ at cooking didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try his damned hardest, and the fact it was for his sick girlfriend made him want to try even harder than that.

_Fry the onion in oil_. That was next. With some trepidation, he began, throwing the bacon into the saucepan with an almost cautious movement, as if _willing_ it not to ruin the whole thing.

He wiped the sweat from his brow as he added the potatoes and leek. He wanted—no, needed it to be perfect, because she deserved perfection and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to deliver. When she smiled, it lit his whole world. If cooking an amazing meal for her would make her feel better and bring a smile to her face, he would become a world class chef. Hell, he’d make an attempt to move the moon if it would make her smile, tidal implications be damned.

He added creamed corn and sweetcorn with the picture of her smile at the forefront of his mind, wooden spoon in hand as he stirred carefully, talking to himself as he did so.  
 _Stir in, add the stock and the milk and leave to simmer…_ he told himself, repeating it in an almost mantra-like fashion, as if he feared that the next step of the recipe would rush from his mind as soon as he needed it. It smelled delicious, if he was honest with himself, and that fact made him almost excited to present it to her as he took a careful taste from the spoon, nodding to himself in a sage-like fashion. It tasted, to put it crassly, _fucking excellent_.

God, he felt like a professional chef, even though he was a doctor in a modest kitchen that had never been used when he was a bachelor, cooking for his sick girlfriend with a recipe from the internet and the best ingredients Havenfall could get, which he suspected wasn’t exactly LA standards. Maybe he’d give cuisine a go when being a doctor was no longer possible, if ever. After all, people would always need to eat…

He poured the final product into a bowl, ending up with more leftovers than he intended. No problem—Tupperware was yet another technological marvel that seemed to go underappreciated by anyone under the age of 150.

Diego prepared the dinner tray—soup, spoon, glass of water… Headache medicine… Everything she might need, and carried it upstairs, pushing the door open with his foot and placing the tray on the bedside table. She was asleep, snoring quietly with her hair plastered to her face and body curled into a small ball.

“Lunchtime, sweetheart. I made something good.”  
He stroked at her hair, marvelling at how even when she was sick, she was easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever looked upon.

[MC]’s eyes fluttered open, and she pulled herself up into a sitting position, looking at the soup with interest.  
“It smells great, Diego, what is it?” Her voice was still hazy with sleep, eyelids blinking rapidly to get rid of the sleep from her eyes as he placed the tray on her lap and went to sit next to her on the other side of the bed. She woke up quickly as the smell got closer, looking at it with hungry anticipation. She had an appetite—that was a good sign. When [MC] lost her appetite, that’s when you really knew something was wrong.

“Bacon, sweetcorn and potato soup. I got the recipe online.” He watched her take the first bite, eyes following the spoon as it travelled from bowl to mouth, and then resting on her face to study her reaction. His heart skipped a beat with the pause. God, what if he’d cooked her something atrocious and made her even _more_ sick?

“Oh my god, Diego, this is amazing. It’s so… Jesus, it’s delicious.”

He flushed, relief and satisfaction flooding through him as he sat back, pleased, watching her take another spoonful, and another.

“I’m so glad you like it. I hoped it would help you feel better. Or at least less crap.”

“God, Diego, if someone had told me you’d be cooking stuff like this after the whole scrambled egg incident I would have called them crazy.” She looked at him sideways, a teasing grin on her face. “Even more surprises from the gorgeous Dr Escalona.”

Diego snorted at that, leaning in close and nuzzling at her shoulder and neck to nip her teasingly.  
“I’m surprised _you’re_ still surprised,” he replied softly, kissing her neck and earning a giggle in return. She pushed him away, although without very much conviction.

“Stop, I’ve still got soup to eat. You’ll make me spill it.”

He sat back, chuckling, content to watch her enjoy the soup he’d made. When the very last drop had gone, she reclined, leaning her head on his shoulder and sighing contentedly.  
“Thank you, Diego. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did. You’re the one I love.” He slipped an arm around her, gathering her closer to him. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t cook when you were ill?”

[MC] smiled at that, leaning up to kiss him.   
“I’d be worried about giving you this horrible flu, but I’m guessing it’s not really something vampires can get.” She pecked him once on the lips when he nodded agreement. “Thank god. I think I’d go mad if I had to give up junk food **and** you every time I got sick.”

“If you didn’t eat so much junk you’d probably get sick less,” he pointed out, voice low, kissing her again when she stuck her tongue out at him. Tutting, he shuffled to lie down, gently encouraging her to cuddle with him. “Come on. Rest is just as important as good food and a good boyfriend. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She kissed him, squeezing him round the midsection in a tight hug as she cuddled closer.  
“I know. You’re good like that, and I love you for it.”

He laid his hand on her hair, stroking gently as she settled down to sleep.  
“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I take requests over at my tumblr, @littlestmedic


End file.
